


Schlafes Bruder

by Donna_Immaculata



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Hate Sex, M/M, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 19:50:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donna_Immaculata/pseuds/Donna_Immaculata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus sleeps like the dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Schlafes Bruder

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2004 Remus/Remix, based on the drabble by Flora Hart.

_Remus sat in the window seat in the half-moon light, picking at the frayed place in the cushion, not looking at the empty spot on the bed._

 __His _side of the bed was full, a solid shape under the blanket, snoring gently, and if he ignored the fact that the figure's feet overhung the end of the bed he could almost pretend they'd merely swapped sides._

 _But no, he couldn't either. That felt wrong, too._

 _Sirius had always,_ always _slept on the left._

 _Severus always slept on the right._

 _Remus looked outside. Habits - expectations - were too damn hard to break._

 

The garden is covered in darkness more absolute than should be possible in the milky white light of the half-moon. From Remus' position in the window seat, he can see the clouds, driven by a sharp wind, pass before the frozen disc of the moon. The gnarled branch of an old oak tree splits the pale surface in two, thrusting into the air like a devil's horn. Remus lets go of the cushion and pulls up his leg, wrapping his arms around his shin and putting his chin on his knee. His feet are getting cold, but he doesn't feel like going back to bed. Even though he isn't looking in that direction, _purposely_ not looking at the empty spot, the other man's presence is palpable like a solid weight, pressing him down. Snape's breath is low and quiet, almost inaudible, as though he tries to take up as little space as possible even in his sleep. But he is there, he is lying in Remus' bed, and Remus closes his eyes and rests his forehead on his knee. As long as he isn't looking, he can pretend that the man sleeping on his side of the bed is the same man who used to share Remus' bed last year.

But Sirius always slept on the left.

Also, Sirius always slept rolled into a tight ball, curled up in himself like the dog into which he would turn ever so often, when his human emotions threatened to overpower him, and Sirius used to make noises in his sleep, tiny, whimpering noises that would break Remus' heart whenever he woke up to hear them. Severus sleeps deadly, unnaturally quiet, lying stiffly on his back and his posture, together with his waxy white face and dark shadows under his eyes, always makes Remus think that he is sharing his bed with a corpse. The macabre character of that image makes it much harder to sleep than Sirius' restlessness had ever done.

Remus looks outside. The moon has rolled over the sky and is grinning at him from behind a chimney. He has to sleep, he cannot afford his insomnia to become chronic. He stretches out his leg, wincing at the tiny shots of pain that prickle under his skin as blood floods back to his veins, and steps to the edge of the bed. He stares down at the chiaroscuro of Severus' face. Black tendrils of hair meander across his forehead like miniature serpents, high cheekbones cast deep shadows in which all light gets lost, and long dark lashes flutter against the bruised skin under his eyes. Remus can force his hands to unclench, but not his gut.

Damn Dumbledore! He grits his teeth and sits down on his - on _the other_ \- side of the bed. Albus seems to think that he, Remus, has incommensurable resources of patience and understanding, that he is capable and willing to nurse each and everyone who happens to not fit into Albus' current agenda back to health and sanity. One and a half years ago, Remus woke up in the dead of night to the sound of faint knocking and a hoarse voice whispering his name like a mantra, and he let in Sirius, half-starved and more than half mad with grief and despair. He let Sirius into his house, into his bed and wiped sweat off his brow when Sirius finally fell asleep, only to be haunted by his dreams. When they moved to Grimmauld Place, it was Sirius who asked Remus to stay in his house, in his bed, and so Remus did. For more than one year, Remus slept side by side with a man who was more than a friend and less than a lover. It was only when he saw the expression of fear and surprise and fury on Sirius' sharply cut, beautiful face, saw the man's body fall back in a long, graceful arch that he was struck by the mad wish of having seen - only once - this face contorted by lust and passion.

He had never before felt like that about Sirius, and he has never again allowed himself to think about him like that, but the thought that he stupidly wasted an opportunity has been nagging at the back of his mind ever since.

Sirius was gone, inevitably, and Remus moved out of the Blacks' house and into a tiny flat in Seven Sisters. Six months later, he woke up at the sound of faint knocking at his door and when he pulled it open, he met the dark, burning gaze of Severus Snape, who was leaning against the doorframe with one bony shoulder, clutching his other arm protectively to his body. Severus' lips were pulled back in a snarl - or maybe pain - and Remus pulled him inside and sat him down in his best kitchen chair and helped him wash and dress the swollen, bloodied flesh of his left arm. Severus spoke in short, clipped tones, but Remus understood that Albus had made him come and stay with Remus as long as it was necessary for him to remain hidden. Voldemort knew many ways to trace those he wanted to find, but, Severus said, his lips pulled back over his teeth, Albus reckoned that Remus was _the_ expert in remaining hidden and untraceable. Knowing how much it cost Severus to ask for shelter, Remus didn't say anything but merely burned the bloodied cloths in the sink.

Standing over Severus' sleeping form, Remus feels his blood pound in his temples and his breath come in short, sharp rasps. The only thing he has ever wanted is to have some space for himself to which he can retreat when things get to be too much, but it seems he's never allowed to keep it. The more he withdraws, the more people push and prod and invade the space he has created. Severus didn't come voluntarily, but come he did, and Remus hates him for that. He hates how Severus wakes up early and leaves the bed, trying not to wake Remus likewise (which never works); how he dresses, methodically, in his many layers of clothing, accompanied by the rustling of fabric and the soft clicking of buttons; how he always leaves the kitchen sparkling clean, as though trying to erase all signs of his presence (Remus has taken to leaving his own dirty dishes on the table every night, but they are always gone when he enters the kitchen in the morning); how he narrows his eyes whenever he looks at, and curls his lip whenever he talks to Remus; how, when the irregular attacks seize him, he slumps into a corner, clutching his arm to his chest and biting his lips in mute agony until Voldemort stops tormenting him; how he's never allowed Remus to help him wash and bandage the wound ( _the open, throbbing flesh_ ) after the first night, and, first and foremost, how much like a corpse he looks in his sleep.

Remus isn't driven by a sudden impulse. He never is. When he reaches across the bed and leans over Severus, it is done consciously and in full knowledge of possible ramifications. Severus' hatred for him will spiral to new heights after this, but his hatred Remus can live with. Severus hates living on Remus' charity and Remus hates having Severus there, and if he could make Severus hate his position even more, make him feel like the beggar he is, make him feel helpless and at Remus' mercy, it would take away some of the oppression that constricts his throat and clenches his gut whenever he catches sight of the man.

Remus presses his palm against Severus' chest and splays his fingers. He startles when he feels warmth; he half expected Severus' chest to be cold and still like marble. The man doesn't make a sound, but his breath hitches ever so slightly, and Remus isn't surprised when a thin hand comes up, gripping him around the wrist. Severus' eyes open, and Remus looks calmly down at him. They stare at each other, breathlessly, Severus' eyes narrowing until they are barely more than black lines, like thin wounds slashed across his face, Remus' features frozen.

"Lupin," Severus says in that low, oddly warm voice of his, "I was wondering when..." he trails off and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, Remus is still staring down at him, wondering how far Severus will let him take it.

"When what, Severus?" he prompts, politely.

"When you'd have me... pay for your, ah, hospitality," says Severus.

"No, Severus," Remus shakes his head. "I expect no payment. You've got nothing I want."

"What, then?" Severus' grip around Remus' wrist tightens. "I don't suppose you were merely checking whether I was still breathing?"

Remus' lips twist in a small smile. "You look like a corpse when you sleep," he says, his voice very soft. "I don't want to share my bed with a dead man."

He feels Severus stiffen beneath his hand. "I don't think I can change anything about the way I look in my sleep, Lupin," the man says through gritted teeth. Remus grins lazily.

"I think you can." With a roll of his wrist, he frees himself from Severus' grip and crushes the man with the full weight of his body. He feels Severus' sharp exhale before the other man's fingers bore painfully into his shoulders, pushing him up and away. Remus doesn't yield, however, and presses himself against Severus, hard, relishing the feeling of rigid hipbones digging into the soft flesh of his belly.

Severus is breathing heavily and fast through his nose, his lips pressed tightly shut, struggling wordlessly, but both know that he's got no chance to withstand Remus' preternatural strength. When Remus' mouth closes over his, it is not to kiss but to suck and bite, and he growls low in his throat when the salty-coppery taste of blood floods his mouth.

Faced with the inevitable, Severus seems to reconsider his strategy. Within a few moments, he is kissing back, biting and bruising Remus' lips like Remus has bruised his. His hands clench around Remus' shoulders once again, but this time, he pulls him closer, deeper, digs his nails into the tender skin of Remus' back, and when Remus jerks back, startled, Severus tugs his lip with his teeth and drags his nails across the length of his shoulders.

Pale moonlight pours into the room, illuminating the two men clenched into a tight ball of clawing hands, glinting teeth, panting breaths. Remus' shirt goes first, and soon the raw sound of flesh slipping against naked flesh fills the room, the breaths of both growing faster, harsher as they fight for control. Severus forces his thigh between Remus' legs, eliciting a loud gasp, and, using his momentary advantage, manages to flip them both over. He sinks his teeth into Remus' neck, sucking at the throbbing vein, before Remus regains enough control to push Severus' head away and his own leg between Severus'. He feels sweat gathering along Severus' spine, sweat pouring down his own face, drenching his hairline, slicking his throat and chest. Their sweat carries the scent of rage and lust and Remus rubs his groin against Severus' in an attempt to generate _more_ , more lust and more scent. He exhales sharply through his nose when he feels Severus' hard cock brush his.

The sizzling heat, the friction between their bodies becomes increasingly painful. Unable to quench his disgust for the man on top of him and equally unable to decline his body the release it is screaming for, Remus shoves one hand between their joined hips and grips his own cock, tugging firmly. It is hot and slick with sweat, and he feels the familiar gush of heat crawl up his legs until it reaches his groin, where it explodes into millions of bright sparks. Above him, Severus' grunts, an unexpected, animal sound, and comes all over Remus' hand and stomach, his own hand moving restlessly on his cock until long after his release.

*~*

Severus sleeps deadly, unnaturally quiet, lying on his back, loose-limbed and relaxed. His face is flushed and his sweaty hair sticks to his temples and his cheeks. Even as Remus is watching, Severus turns his head slightly and parts his lips, just a fraction. His ribcage lifts with a deep, shuddering breath, and Remus rolls onto his front, curling one arm under his pillow. The room smells of sex and sweat and it is filled with the sound of Severus' deep breath, and Remus knows he will be able to sleep, at last.


End file.
